


the limitless

by stellaviatorii



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Social Media, TW: Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaviatorii/pseuds/stellaviatorii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which bucky becomes <i>bucky</i>, steve gets angry, and fox news fucks up. again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the limitless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ronahn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronahn/gifts).



> this is for the lovely [kayla](http://hawkcyes.tumblr.com), whose [post](http://hawkcyes.tumblr.com/post/101642678213/let-me-describe-my-headcanon-of-bucky-barnes-in) made my absolute day. 
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr!](http://loarnes.tumblr.com)

His name was Peter Smith. Natasha had the theory that bland names matched bland personalities, and she was almost correct.

Smith was basically a jar of expired mayonnaise with enough mould to make it interesting.

“I mean, look at this trash,” Darcy exclaimed, shoving her iPad in front of Steve’s sleep-befuddled face. It was barely six in the morning, but with enough coffee and rage, Darcy could stay awake for hours. “I counted five slurs in the first paragraph. And that’s excluding all the other bullshit allusions.” Steve had to agree with her assessment; Fox News’ latest article, blazoned with acclaimed social correspondent Peter Smith’s slick profile photograph, set the stress knots in Steve’s shoulders alive.

Two days ago the paparazzi had ambushed Steve and Bucky’s lunch date, and needless to say they soaked it up like cocaine: ecstasy until you need another hit. So they’d recycle the same old pictures and put meagre quotes on repeat, waiting for their dealers to slip a little tongue in public. While most news outlets had been respectful and merely congratulated the couple on being more openly affectionate, there were always going to be the few rotten apples to ruin the barrel. The more toxic ones were blocked by JARVIS’s privacy screenings, but a safety net in 2015 couldn’t expect to be perfect. A few filtered through, whether Steve went looking or not.

Sometimes he was grateful Darcy valued his autonomy enough to let him know when some bastard wanted to grind his partner’s nose into the asphalt.

> _Though Barnes has been through extensive, possibly needless therapy for the various actions he committed as the Winter Soldier, it seems to have had little effect. Café Ami waitress, Susanne Whitman, has “often seen [Barnes] drop by wearing [women’s clothing]”, a claim supported by her colleagues. Though they appear to be content with the situations, other patrons are not. “It’s stupid,” Derek Southerland, frequent patron of the establishment, mentioned during my interview with Whitman. “First Captain [sic] America comes out as a fag, now he’s prancing around with some fat commie tra—”_

Steve didn’t throw Darcy’s iPad at the wall, but it was a damn near thing.

“Pepper’s already on it,” said Natasha, appearing stealthily in the doorway in civvies. Having known her for years now, Steve could read the lines of her mouth and be 100% assured she was just as furious as he was. “Article’s going to be taken down in – oh, there we go.” Steve refreshed the page and sure enough an error 404 message popped up.

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, passing Darcy her iPad and setting his face in his hands. He’d only woken up fifteen minutes ago when Darcy started hollering at their apartment door, and the knowledge that Bucky was still asleep – or at least resting – in their bedroom, completely unaware of the situation, drove an arrow of bile through his chest. He loved the internet, except when he didn’t.

* * *

 

Of course Bucky found out. Attempting to keep secrets from an ex-assassin was just as ridiculous as Tony’s plans for yet another sentient robot.

“Hey, come on, Ultron is gonna be great!”

“No one cares, Stark,” Bucky breezed by, snatching xyr tablet from the workbench xe’d left it. While Tony whined around a bottle of Gatorade, Bucky opened a fresh word document and typed like a person possessed.

Two minutes and 600mL of artificial grape juice later, Tony set down the bottle and observed the frenzy before him. Bucky was hunched over the tablet almost painfully, fingers flying faster than the average secretary in an attempt to level up against the breathless mutters trickling from xyr chapped lips. If Tony were less of an asshole, he’d call the scene beautiful. Twisted and kinda out of the blue, but still beautiful.

When Bucky finished, xe didn’t lock the tablet. Xe simply stood, stared at Tony for a moment, and walked out of the common room.

_Xe didn’t lock the tablet_ , and Tony was the first to read the first tweet on Bucky Barnes’ official twitter account.

* * *

 

 

With xyr general appearance, people tended to forget that Bucky was once a homicidal terrorist with an aim that’d make Clint sulk. After months of psychologists and anti-depressants and the taste of salt on Steve’s shoulder at 2am, xe was the person xe always wanted to be; oversized jumpers and a healthy appreciation for Alt-J had given Bucky xyr life back, essentially. Who gave a shit if drank Starbucks lattes every morning? Did they have to claw their way through the deck of cards Bucky had been dealt?

Xe grabbed xyr muffins and flipped a lone photographer, huddled behind some teenagers, the bird.

It was captured, of course – a quicksilver flash as Bucky lowered xyr hand and started out the shop. For all that xe loved this century, the obsessives employed to track xyr every move outside Stark Tower really whirred the gears in xyr left arm.

“Mr Barnes!” someone yelled five feet behind xem, struggling against the morning foot traffic of downtown Manhattan. “Mr Barnes, wait!”

Xe hadn’t been referred to as a mister since xe had quietly requested for JARVIS to refer to xyr as Sergeant – “it’s neutral, I guess” – and needless to say, hearing xyr surname attached to the title felt like swallowing a pill strangely.

“What?” xe snapped, spinning on xyr heel to glare at xyr follower. The person was dark, petite and feminine; their lax stance wasn’t immediately indicative of attack, but Bucky kept xyr hand close to xyr concealed weapon just in case.

“Sorry for stopping you but, uh,” the kid rubbed their neck anxiously. “Um, well, can I just say that – ah – I really admire you, y’know? There ain’t many trans celebrities or – or famous people who really push the gender binary, and I just wanna say thank you? Oh, I’m Miles, by the way.” Miles extended their trembling hand, a small, hesitant smile bleeding to the corners of their pierced lip. Bucky quickly juggled xyr purchases and shook genially, still itching to quietly mention –

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry; I totally called you mister before,” Miles suddenly blurted, their brown cheeks hit hard with a shamed blush. “That – that was unbelievably shitty, holy fuck, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Bucky murmured, grateful they brought up the issue. Xe wasn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, but being confronted like this, surrounded by curious hundreds and the Siren song of New York traffic, drove splinters down xyr spine. “Just call me Bucky, yeah?”

“Of course! My pronouns are they/them; you?”

“Uh – x-xe/xyr,” Bucky had rehearsed this statement by a tenfold with Steve, practically burning the words into xyr larynx until they were as heady as the Lord’s prayer – and yet that all trickled away at the first sign of a strangers’ grin.

“Awesome! Well, uh, I’ve gotta go,” Miles grimaced at their watch, “but, um, thank you so much for the chat!” They awkwardly turned to leave, steps faltering through the flow of pedestrians, and Bucky knew xe couldn’t let them fade into obscurity.

“Hey, kid! Miles!” xe called. They whipped around, stunned. “What’s your surname?”

“Morales,” they yelled back. “Miles Morales.”

“I’ll be seein’ you, Morales.”

And xe would.


End file.
